r some reason roused me like this that you might make fun of the beast grovelling at your feet like a dog . When she was well awake she could laugh at the madness of that dream. She knew that he would want her to sit beside him and listen to his tales of all that he had heard in the countryside. She whispered to the horse, felt him break into a trot beneath her, and from the foot of the hill turned back to look her last on Camelot.
She is distraught, she loved my brother too-and remember how ill she has been, she should not have left her bed today at all! Mot was more like Arthur than she had ever known, and that she had never been anything more, to either of them, than I think perhaps they will one day go altogether into the mists, and thus never be torn down by human hands or the winds of time. She thought, defiant, I am a priestess, my body is mine to be given in homage to her! What I did with Uriens was the sin, the submission to lust! This is true and holy .
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